Double Lives
by MisplacedHyperQuill
Summary: Molly Hooper- quiet pathologist, loner, no friends...it seemed. As her past catches up with her, she is forced to leave the life she built for herself- literally. Sherlock has a new case- but is this one he can truly handle? Chapter 3 up- R&R?
1. Prologue

When the tall man with the sideburns was thrown against the wall, he slid down, slumped, unconscious immediately. The whitewashed plaster was now stained with what would be bright crimson under normal light- a circular splotch with a trail that his behind the man's slumped form. It reminded Molly of a grotesque lollipop.

Yummy.

She walked towards the man, a wicked grin plastered on her face.

"Goodnight!" she sing-sang. Her eyes roved the man's form, her grin widening when she realised who her attempted assassin was. Flexing the fist she used to hurl the man in the first place, she turned, inhaling deeply.

"Sam Winchester." She breathed with a grin "I just clocked out a Winchester. Which means there is another one." She laughed manically "_Come out, come out wherever you are_!" she called to the empty space.

Bending down, she grabbed the gun belonging to the incredibly tall man and unloaded all it's bullets before kicking them away with a heeled boot in disgust.

Silver. How…dangerous.

When she straightened, a hand clamped over her mouth, and another armed snaked around her small waist, keeping her locked. One problem with this body was that it was so. Fucking. _Small_.

"Time's up, you bitch." A voice whispered in her ear. With a strategized squirm, Molly whirled around herself around in the man's tight grasp and kneed him in his…most prized jewels.

"_Shit."_ He groaned, dropping to his knees. He swore again as his hands moved to clutch his groin. Molly giggled.

"Naw, did I hurt you _little nutters_?" she cooed.

"_Little_ my ass." Dean gritted out. Molly's grinned vanished when she felt a hand close over her ankle and pull.

With a grunt she fell to the floor, face down, and was rolled onto her back.

"Damn it, I knew I should have ended you properly." She said, mock annoyed as Sam aimed a gun to her head.

"And that's why you die tonight." There was click. And silence.

The tall man swore.

"So all that hype about the Winchester brothers are over exaggerated. How sad." She said shoving Sam off and standing up. She dusted herself of, only to have him pin her back against a wall.

She received a punch in the jaw in return.

"Would you really hit a girl, Sam?" she asked innocently, feeling a wet warmth trail down her neck.

"Shut up, you son of a-"

"Enough swearing, don't you think, Dean?" Molly cut him off "Would you _really_ hurt me though? Me? Your sweet Molly?"

The falter in his grip was enough for Molly to shove the hunter away. Her feet hit the floor and one leg lashed out and took him out from the back of his knees. He landed with a painful thud on his back. His hand reached for his pocket; his widened when his hand touched empty space.

"Looking for this?" she asked, holding out the older Winchester's gun. She cackled at his groan of frustration.

The other one was still a bit out of it from the nasty hit he'd taken to the wall. With a grin, Molly walked up to his position next to the couch and pulled a knife to his throat.

"Wait until they find out who I k-"

A sharp pain tore through her chest. Releasing the hold on the knife, she glance down. Protruding out from her ribcage, through her heart, was the unmistakable glint of a knife.

The blade pulled out of her. She heard the muffled sound of it rushing past her slowly deteriorating organs as she slumped onto her knees.

She tried to heal herself, and could thankfully feel the wounds stitching themselves up, when she was wrenched away and turned to face her assaulter.

She glared into the eyes of the person who's body she'd stolen.

"No one steals my body. Ever." The real Molly Hooper hissed, shoving her doppelganger to the floor.

The wounded creature howled in pain- a sound that certainly woke the neighbours. With one last ounce of effort, Molly shoved the knife back into the shapeshifter.

She let the blade stay in there, even after the monster stopped it's final spasms. Panting, Molly pulled her hair away from her face and tied it up into a loose bun- she winced, realising her hands were bloody with what was technically her own blood.

"What the hell-" slurred Dean, recovering from his fall. He stood up, groaning, clutching his back. "Sammy-" he gritted out, limping to his brother. Molly joined him, gently helping the stirring man to his feet.

"How's the head?" she said, trying to inspect the wound. Giving up, she walked around them and stood on the couch. She prodded the cut slightly and heard him gasp in pain "It's not that deep." She concluded, "Let me get you some bandages and I'll fix you up."

"No," he answered, "you can't. You need to leave."

"But-"

"Sammy's right. I'm sorry, but you know you can't escape our lifestyle."

"I am _not_ a hunter anymore." Molly hissed. Dean let out an impatient sigh.

"This is not the time for this. Right now, you need to get the hell out of here." As if through some divine intervention, police sirens rang out from below. Dean raised an eyebrow at Molly, who sprinted to her bedroom.

She ran out seconds later, a bag holding necessary clothing, items, and (God-help-her) weapons slung over a shoulder.

"I am guessing I was killed." She stated, glancing to her body on the floor.

"It's the best way to restart." Sam offered a reassuring smile.

"And you two-"

"-will be knocked out an conscious. Our egos will survive this one hit for you." Dean joked. Molly chuckled despite the circumstances.

"They will bring in Sherlock, the man from that day- remember: the best way to cheat past this is to tell as much of the truth as possible."

"Go Molly, we have this covered. Take some valuables to make it look like a robbery." Sam pressed.

"Already done." Moly answered, rattling her bag. Sher nodded, and climbed out the window and onto the fire escape.

Glancing one last time at her apartment, Molly bit back a surprise sob.

Molly Hooper had the normal life she wanted for five years. Now, she had to accept that the hunter's life had caught up with her, finally.

It was time to say goodbye.

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

When the tolerable chime of his ringtone sounded, Sherlock had literally jumped with glee (after placing his violin back down in its case gently)- _finally_ a case. Three weeks of boredom was unbearable- on him _and _his roommate.

John had padded in, yawning, the absence of the shrill violin concerning him.

"Sherlock? What-" the blonde was shushed by a long-fingered hand in front of his face waving him away. With a grumble, John sat himself on the sofa.

"Repeat that again." The doctor looked up in concern. Sherlock never needed things to be repeated. He mimed at the detective to give him clues as to what was going on. Once again, he received a waving hand in his direction.

"Has anyone touched her?" This time, John could here a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Has. Anybody. _Touched_. Her. Yet?" the doctor heard muffle replies.

"Good. Leave it clean. I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't touch _anything_; keep everyone _away._ Understand? Good." With that, the tall man hung up.

There was a pause as Sherlock fingered the phone in his palm. Then, he hastily pocketed it and turned to face John, face impassive.

"Get ready." Sherlock muttered, striding over the coffee table and heading for his coat.  
"Is it a case?"

"Yes." Came the curt reply. John frowned. No snarky comments? What was going on? He threw on a jumper and worn jeans before pocketing his gun in it's holster.

"Hurry up, John!" the man yelled impatiently.

"Sherlock, what is wrong with you?"

There was silence as the two men jogged down the stairs.

"Sherlock!" the brunette whirled on him, eyes glittering. John stepped back in surprise and intimidation.

"Molly Hooper-" John's eyes widened "-has been murdered."

…

Dean sat on a kitchen stool next to Sammy as his younger brother clutched the ice to the back of his head.  
"How's the head?"

"Fine." Came the reply. The older hunter let out a sigh and glanced at the investigation carried out in the room. Or the lack thereof.

"I love how fast they work." He muttered sarcastically.

"They're not allowed to. I heard one of them talking- apparently that Sherlock Holmes gets the first look."

"That the prissy posh ass from that day?" Sam nodded. "Molly sure made some weird friends." Dean commented.

Minutes later, the man billowed in with that annoying coat of his. The shorter man he was with the other day followed.

"How much you wanna bet those two are gay for each other."

"Not the time, Dean.  
"You're no fun."

"Stabbed twice by some type of blade. By the thickness and length, it was probably a kitchen knife. It was probably a weapon the killer picked up on her way."

"Her?" the pointy nosed man sneered.

"That's the guy I got the info from." Sam pointed out. Dean chuckled.

"They're either annoying, or ugly and annoying. What's wrong with that nose?"

"Yes, Anderson, her. Now shut up before babies start to cry. The cut," Sherlock continued "was done by a professional- someone who knew her way around a blade and who could stomach taking another life."

"I have to admit, he's pretty damn good." Sam said.  
"Still a prissy ass."

"I never said he wasn't."

The two brothers watched the man as he flitted in and out of the room. He walked up to the head detective who'd spoken to them earlier and exchanged words before walking up to Sam and Dean.

"Go time." Dean whispered.

"You two were Molly's cousins." The man drawled.  
"We are." Sam nodded. "I'm Sam, that's Dean."

"Last names?"

"Williams. Our mother's were cousins."

"You are quite distantly related and Molly never kept much contact with any family members." Dean's eyes narrowed. This guy was just trying to catch them on a lie.

"We are." He cut in, ignoring Sam's look. "We used to hang out all the time- back when she lived back home with us. When she moved, she came back for holidays but those stopped once her mother passed, but we felt it was time to meet up again, so we called and she said okay- so we came."

"Don't lie." Damn it. Molly was right. Truth was the only way to go.  
"Sorry." Sam answered, "Everything is true, except why we're here. We had some business to deal with and we realised Molly was in the area, so we dropped in."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"Necessary precautions."

"Are you even a _part_ of the police?"

"More than you." Came the curt remark. It took every ounce of Dean's power not to punch the man to next fucking Tuesday.

"Sherlock, shut up." Dean glanced down. The blonde man had joined them "Sorry- he doesn't know how to treat people properly." He continued, glaring at Sherlock.

"You were thrown against the wall." Sherlock stated, looking to Sam.

"Yeah, quite hard." Sam agreed.

"And you," he said turning back to Dean "said that your attacker was quite short."

"Yeah, about ye high." Dean said, indicating to his chest "But she was in heels, so it came up to his high." He amended, raising his palm to under his chin.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Oh, how nice it would be to shave that thing of. How posh would he look then?

"So you are saying that a woman, basically Molly's height and build, based on your statement, managed to throw someone as tall as you to against a wall _that_ hard, and knock you out with a few punches?" he said, looking at each brother.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"We're just telling you what we saw, officer." Sam said tiredly "We aren't lying."  
"At all." Dean added. "We just want you to find her killer."

Sherlock glared one last time at the two before stalking away.

"I apologise, again, for Sherlock." the small man muttered before taking of after his boyfriend.

…

"You just said they weren't lying." Lestrade answered, rubbing a hand over his face.  
"They weren't. But the facts do not match up. They are hiding something." Lestrade looked to Sherlock.

"What could they possibly be hiding? I spoke to the two a few days ago- they're perfectly all right. Harmless. They didn't kill Molly."

"They didn't." Sherlock agreed, reluctantly "But they are hiding something. I want to look at her body."

"Sherlock-"

"One more time. I need to be sure I have all the facts."

"Sher-"

"DO you want the killer caught, or not?" Sherlock seethed, before stalking away.

"I never realised he could get so…"  
"There was always something he had for Molly. It's just sad that it took this to make him realise." John answered. "I'm going to miss her."

"So will we all."

Sherlock moved around the body, trying to shove aside the odd tugging in his chest everytime he lay his eyes on those stab wounds, her bruised pale arms and that bright halo of auburn that framed her soft, round face.

He lied, and it unnerved him. Not the fact that he lied- it was the lie itself.

All the facts he needed from her body was collected and stored. He just wasn't ready to let her go.

Interesting.

His fingers hovered over her now blank, dark eyes. He remembered when they used to crinkle in the corners from excess smiling. With a sharp inhale, he closed their lids with two nimble fingers.

Now she looked asleep. By looking at her face, one would think just that, save for the dark trickle of dried blood from the corner of her mouth. The bastard who killed her had beat her as well.

Forcing himself to look away stand up, Sherlock looked to the two brothers seated by the kitchen. The tall one was having his head bandaged, The annoying one caught his glare and returned it with on of his own. Noticing, his brother slapped his arm and forced him to avert his eyes.

Those two were hiding something very important and Sherlock knew it had something to do with their 'cousin's' death (if that was who she truly was to them). God help those two when he found out what that secret was.

Sherlock joined John and the two took a silent cab ride home.

**The weight of waiting for Sherlock and Supernatural to release their new seasons has taken it's toll. This little plot angel/demon has been scratching at the back of my head for ages and won't let me concentrate on much else.**

**However, I really do hope it comes of well, because if it does there _are_ a few ideas I have to continue this story.**

**A review would be certainly very nice. Really- even if it is the worst flame imaginable. **

**Thank you lovely reader who has read this,**

**-Ash :)**


	2. Saying Goodbye

**IMPORTANT A/N PLEASE READ: My other fic: Hunters and the Hunted has the same prologue as this one, but to clear up any confusion: BOTH THESE STORIES HAVE VERY DIFFERENT PLOTS, so if you've decided to read or follow only on fic because you think it is the same story on to different parts of the site, please give HatH a shot? Thanks, now on with the story:**

She_ had taken a different route home, that particular day. For one, it was raining (she's forgotten an umbrella, again), and it offered more shade that her usual path._

_The dark alleyway that had always irked her was where that hand shot out and pulled by her ponytail. Everything happened too inhumanely fast for her to scream. There were many punches thrown, kicks as well, from both parties._

_It seemed to have taken a liking for her body. She was shoved, hard, against a wall. As she slumped forward and the dizziness took over, Molly saw a shifter actually shift, up close, for the first time._

_It was rather horrid._

_Then it all went black._

"-hear me?" Molly faced up, blinking as she looked around the room. Her eyes met deep green ones. "Are you alive in there?"

Knuckled rapped the side of her head. Molly swatted away Dean's fist in annoyance.

"Yeah, yeah- what did you want?"

"We, um- how do I say this without sounding like a dick?" Molly shook her head, smiling at Dean's apparent loss for words "We're heading out- to your…funeral."

The smile vanished.

For the first time, Molly took in the black suit the older man was wearing. Sam exited the bathroom, redoing his cufflinks- he was dressed the same as his brother.

"Oh. Well, then. I, uh, I have somewhere to be, myself. Look once it's over, find this address- don't take a taxi and try to be discreet." She said, busying herself with scribbling down an address onto a scrap piece of paper.

Walking past Dean's outstretched hands, she handed it to Sam.

"I didn't realise I was non-existent."

"You aren't," Molly retorted "But your memory and responsibility-with-important-things skills are." Sam sniggered.

"Shut up, Sam."

Molly grinned. The two men left the motel room, leaving Molly to herself.

The pathologist sank onto one of the beds. Today was her funeral- who knew it would've ever come to this?

She imagined herself in some dress laid out in some coffin- close casket, she hoped. Molly definitely didn't want people crying over the corpse of a shapeshifter.

If people would even be there.

Her hunter mates would pay their respects in their own time, if or when they received news. A select few knew her real situation. What disappointed her was that _normal_ Molly didn't have much of a social life.

Mrs Jones, the landlady, would be there for sure. Sam and Dean- of course. She honestly couldn't think of anyone else.

Maybe Sherlock-

No. _No_. Molly pushed herself of with renewed energy. The end of one life meant the start of another. She'd done it before, and damn it, she'd do it again. No loose ends, no past connections.

Almost tearing of the zip as she opened her backpack, Molly grabbed her attire for the day. She stared at the set of clothes for an ample amount of time- those flimsy pieces of cloth served as her uniform up until five years ago. Putting them on again almost set her rebirth into the Hunter's world in stone.

_Enough rom-com moments_, Molly scolded herself.

Minutes later, Molly pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail in front of the mirror. She met her own gaze- it was hard, serious and dangerous.

Letting her hands fall loosely to her sides, Molly examined the woman in the mirror. Dark purple longish tank under a tight-fitting leather jacket, off-black skinnies and knee-length heeled boots encased a pale lip-biting lady. The hardcore attire was a stark contrast to the woman it was wearing.

That would have to change.

With a sigh, Molly dug into the front pockets of the bag. Pulling out her eyeliner and mascara, she sighed. May as well go all in, she decided.

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

A loud chime sounded through the previously calm atmosphere of the library.

"I've got it." Molly sighed, standing "It's probably-"

"-the Americans?" Molly glared at the smirking blonde woman.

"They're my cousins." She defended, before leaving the room.

Walking down the empty corridor, Molly made multiple twists and turns in the archaic home before finally reaching the large oak door. Despite it's age-old structure, the house was built in with the best technology.

Pulling a lever, Molly grinned as she watched water cascade over the Winchester's, taking them by surprise, through the monitor. Satisfied that they weren't burning and screaming in raging agony, she opened the door.

"What in the name of-"  
"Top-notch security system, that's what." Molly grinned "Arms out."

"What? Why?" Dean insisted, rubbing the away the salt in his eyes "_shit_- a little warning would be nice. _Oww_." Sam shook his head before offering Molly his forearm.

"Quit being a baby. Grow a pair." He chastised. Dean gave him the finger as his other hand carried on rubbing his eyes. Molly took out her knife and slit the skin. Satisfied with the lack of response other than a wince, she looked to Dean.

Impatient enough, Molly simply grabbed his hand and did the necessary.

"Damn it-"

"Okay, enough, come in will you?"

Leading a grumbling Dean and interested Sam through the maze of corridors, Molly stopped outside the library.

"Time to introduce you to some friends."

Opening the door, she lead the way into the room. The shivering men gravitated towards the fireplace, trying to dry themselves. A circle of sofas and armchairs sat in the middle of the room, along with a large table, under a Persian rug.

Bookshelves took up all the wall space, save for a small window looking out into countryside. Sat on two armchairs in the circle of furniture was a man and woman.

While the woman was a burst of brightness: blonde hair, blue eyes, red blouse and white jeans, the man was, in a word, grey: greying hair, stormy eyes, grey suit. Hell, there was even a grey umbrella leaning against the arm of the chair.

"Okay, boys-" Molly started "-this is Mary Morstan," she indicated to the other female who grinned and waved "and this is Mycroft Holmes. You have met is brother."

"Well, hello there." Molly rolled her eyes as Dean, still damp, sauntered over to Mary "My name is Dean. Winchester. Pleasure is all mine." He said, grinning, arm outstretched. Mary accepted his palm with a vice-like grip before pulling him down to her seated level.

"It really is. Sorry, love- the moves _don't_ work on me." she giggled, pushing the red-faced man away.

"Holmes? Your brother, he is that detective, isn't he?" Sam asked. The man in grey smiled ruefully.

"He is- and yes, I have knowledge of the supernatural, no- my brother doesn't, for his own safety, and _yes_- I do have the same heightened observation skills he does." He finished, a glint in his eyes. Sam spluttered.

"A-Awesome." He responded lamely.

"You know, you should tell that brother of yours to not be such a prissy know-it-all, and-"

"_Dean- shut up." _Molly and Sam hissed in unison. Mycroft chuckled.

"The first to admit that outright tom my face." He stated "Now that we are all present and gathered, I believe it is time we get down to business."

Molly shifted her weight on either foot, clasping her hands in front of her.

"I-I need to go, but I need the necessary: a passport, a new name and background etcetera."

"Why would you need one so soon? It isn't like-" Mary paused, eyes widening with realisation "You are planning to leave the country."

"I have too."

"It isn't necessary to _leave_- you are one of our best hunters." Mycroft argued.

"But I quit hunting. The most I did was advice, man the phones and-and _babysit_." She spat out.

"_Babysitting_ required much fighting, did it not?" Molly groaned, covering her eyes. She walked to Mycroft.

"Just give me a few months," she pleaded, "to get back up, get in shape- Sam and Dean will definitely help me." she looked to the brothers.

"Um, yeah, yeah- we'll get her, uh, un-rusty…" Dean tried. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Look, if there is any case, or if there is any trouble, I am a phone call and a flight away. I swear I'll be back."

Mycroft seemed to think for a minute.

"It isn't fair to keep you like this- it is your life and it isn't like we made a deal with our…situation. I will personally ensure you get everything you need for a new identity and life."

"Thank you, Mycroft." The man nodded, before standing up and retrieving his umbrella.

"I believe I have to take my leave." He said before walking out the door.

Feeling guilty, Molly followed.

"Mycroft, wait."

"Molly?" he greeted, an eyebrow raised. Molly jogged to a stop in front of him. With a sigh, she glanced up at him.

"I _am_ sorry, but I am of no use- especially to protect- when I am literally dead to Sh- to _him_." Molly started, unable to even state the man's name "You know more than anyone that I _want_ to be there for him."

"I know." Mycroft answered gently, eyes softening. Molly only ever saw him like this when this subject was brought up "I know." He repeated.

"Maybe- maybe it is time to…tell him…bring down the wall, so to speak-"

"No."

"It's been _five_ years."

"I made a promise. You and I were both there- I intend to keep it." Molly sighed.

"Of course." Mycroft nodded before turning to walk away. "London is my home," Molly called "I will be back."

Mycroft stopped mid stride and turned. He smiled, but otherwise his expression was unreadable.

"I know you will, Molly Hooper- if not for yourself, for him. That's what the two of us will always have in common."

With that, the man in grey melted into the shadow.

….

"Agent Carson speaking. Yes, of course- Agent Smith is one of our very best." Another phone began to ring "I am so sorry, but I do have to go…yes, yes, I put all my trust in them"

Mary hung up and immediately picked up the ringing telephone next to her.

"Hello? Stan, hi….yes iron- anything really…best if it's sharp…good luck then!"

Another phone rang as Molly walked in. Mary swore.

"I got it." The brunette called as she grabbed the receiver.

"Agent Murray, MI5…sorry who? Ah yes, the Johnson case…we dispatched-" Molly looked to Mary.

"Agent Summers." Mary mouthed.

"Summers." Molly restarted "We only send our best. Have a nice day, sir. Yes, you too."

Molly hung up.

"Fifteenth call today." Mary groaned.

"That is…a lot of calls." Sam commented.

"Mary here is like the British Bobby." Mary laughed.

"British Bobby- you should tell 'im that. How is he, by the way?" Mary asked.

"You know Bobby?" Dean asked, surprised.

"Of course, dear ol' friend of my dad's." Mary grinned. "Give him my love."

…

"God, Molly- I'm really going to miss you." Molly smiled and moved in to hug her friend.

"I'm coming back- I would never leave my partner alone for so long- you'd never survive." Mary snorted.

"Knowing you, you'd be dead without me."

"True." Molly laughed "See you later, Mary."

"Not if I see you first."

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

Molly sprawled herself out on the back seat of the Impala. One advantage of being as short as she was was no cramping for her limbs. She stretched out with a yawn.

"So that Mary is your partner?" Molly hummed.

"Yeah, has been for a long time. We're like sisters."

"That other man- who was he?"

"You really should listen more often- Mycroft Holmes."

"Is he your supplier or something? He dresses way to fancy- and why the umbrella?" Molly laughed.

"Supplier, yes. He also has a very important role in the British Government- he basically helps us clean our records anytime there is trouble with coppers during a case- very helpful, if you ask me." Molly said "And the umbrella: it's silver tipped, and it's handle conceals iron spikes. A good go-to weapon."

"We need one of those." Sam commented.

"The umbrella or the dude?" Dean asked.

"Both."

"What about his brother?"

"Hmm?"

"The detective- Mycroft is his brother, right?"

"Yeah."

"So how does one brother know all about our work and the other be completely-"-Oblivious?" Molly supplied. Sam nodded, turning around from the passenger seat to look at her.

The pathologist bit her lip, trying to find the right words.

"You can say he forgot." She offered.

"Forgot?" Dean repeated incredulously " 'S that supposed to mean?" Molly pursed her lips.

"I'm afraid that story's for another day, boys."

She signalled the end of the conversation by retrieving her phone. Sam turned back around. Molly didn't miss the look passed between the Winchesters as the drove along.

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

Sherlock heard John amble into the room.

"Can't you chuck your clothes around you room rather than out here?" he grumbled. Sherlock didn't answer.

He heard fumbling and muted swears as John picked up his suit jacket, shoes, socks and tie.

"_Sherlock_." This was getting annoying.

"John?" he offered.

"How many are you _wearing_?" Sherlock glanced casually at his forearm. "_Five_? Sherlock you are taking this _way_ too far."

"It's a five patch problem."

Suddenly, his arm was wrenched from under his chin and he felt the rips. He yelled out in anger.

"No, Sherlock." his friend muttered "You are not going to kill yourself over this."

"Over _what_, exactly John? I don't know if it's your idiotic sense of denial, or your stupidity, but Molly has been murdered and I am going to find the bas-" Sherlock inhaled sharply, trying to calm himself.

John sighed and perched himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of the detective.

"This is-" John started "Look, you aren't the only person here who is grieving-"

"I am _not_-"

"Deny all you want- just, _please_…she wouldn't want you to be doing this."

"Am I the only who wants to find the person who stabbed her to death with a knife?"

Sherlock went back into his thinking position after grabbing his arm back. John sighed walking to the front door- he needed air.

"How is the poor boy?"

The doctor smiled sympathetically at the worried landlady in purple.  
"Getting better- I may have gotten through to him." He lied, not wanting to upset her more.

They both knew she could see right through it.

Anyone with eyes could.

**Writing crossovers are certainly not easy. I found it quite difficult trying to blend in all the characters together.**

**Btw, I would love to know what pairings and other characters you would like to see in this fic. I'm still trying to figure the detailed plot out, so any suggestions about characters, pairings, plots, etc. would help tremendously**

**Review and tell me what you think?**

**-Ash :)**


	3. Saying Hello

The trio walked up to the front door of the familiar monstrous house. Sam moved ahead and knocked loudly. Molly grinned when she heard the bustling within the house before the door swung open.

"What do you- oh, it's you two."

"With a third." Molly said, squeezing in between the brothers. Her grin widened when the scowl on the old hunter's face morphed into one of shock.

"Son of a-"

"Hey, Bobby. Long time no see."

"Amelia Campbell." He answered, still in shock "It's been-"

"Five years- yeah, I know." She said "Oh, come here, you old coot."

Molly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a beat, he felt him do the same around her waist. They pulled away after a moment.

"Good to see ya."

"Same here, Bobby, same here."

…

A few days later, directly after her first case in the States since she arrived (a demon causing havoc- nothing to hard), found the trio back at Bobby's.

Molly laughed as Bobby retold another tale about the Winchester's mishaps as they lounged in the large library.

"So what have you been doin' all this time? Not even a call once in a while to make sure you weren't rottin' in a ditch somewhere."

"Sorry 'bout that. Truth be told, I wasn't really hunting much the past five years. Just the occasional vampire or demon- London's crawling with 'em. I've mostly been on protection work."

"Protection? Like a bodyguard?" Bobby asked. The huntress shrugged.

"It was a favour for a friend."

"But protection? Who'd need that?"

"Someone." She answered vaguely "By the way, Mary Morstan says hello."

"Morstan." Bobby chuckled "Good man he was. So was your father- I would've called, if I had any contact details."

"Dad wanted everything discreet. Sorry I-"

"No, no- that's how it should be. It's how the life wants it."

The four hunters sat in silence for a while.

"Speaking of which, there's something I wanna show you out back." Bobby said, breaking the silence, to Molly. "Boys if anything in here breaks I swear-"

"Okay Bobby, we got it." Dean answered. Bobby grunted before leaving the room. Molly followed.

She walked with him in silenced, chugging her beer. Oh, how he missed the taste of good old bitter American beer. She let out a sigh as the burning liquid slid down her throat.

"Missed the good stuff?" Bobby asked. Molly grinned.

"More than you know."

"That's not what I wanted to show you." He said as the stepped out onto the scrap yard. They strolled to one of the closed-off garages. Bobby opened one of them and walked in.

He switched on a light, illuminating the dull place. Molly coughed out the dust that entered her throat. Any words she was about to say died on her lips when her eyes fell on a covered vehicle.

"Bobby, please don't tell me that isn't-"

"It is."

Molly stepped forwards, hand shaking as she carefully pulled away the grey covering. She let out a happy laugh and sprinted back to Bobby, hugging the breath out of him.

Pulling away, she moved back to her Ducati, stroking the sleek black metal of her bike's body.

"I- How-"

"Some friends of yours had it shipped over. Very discreet, everything was. Molly- that what they called you there?" Molly's smiled froze.

"It's what I've been known as for almost eight years." She said.

"What happened back there? Why have you come back?" Bobby asked "No offence- it's great and all that you're back, but both you and your father made it very certain that-"

"Yeah, I know. There were complications and I became a target. Sam and Dean helped eliminate my trail by, uh, killing me- well, a shapeshifter that took my shape. Basically there is a grave with a coffin in it holding my dead body with a tombstone with my name on it, but it's not me in there."

If Bobby had anything to say about it, he kept it to himself.

"Either way, it's good that you're back. The Campbells and Winchesters always made a good team." Molly smiled.

"In all honesty, it's wonderful being home."

"What's goin' on in here?"

The pair turned their heads to see Dean and Sam walking towards them.

"You look happy." Sam commented.  
"That I do." Molly grinned "My baby's been sent over."

"Your _what_?"

The men walked past Molly and took a look at the bike. Dean whistled.

"Ducati, huh?" he said, admiring the bike. He swung a leg over the side and sat on it, his hands gripping the bars.

"Goes up to sixty miles per hour in under two point eight seconds. Hasn't failed me yet." Molly answered proudly.

"Well this here's a hell of a bike, M-" Dean paused, frowning "You know, I still don't know what to call you properly yet."

"Yeah, not to rush you," Sam continued "but you'll have to sort out your new, uh, name and background- soon."

Molly groaned.

"Don't ruin my happy moment just yet!"

"The boys are right, for once- just give me a name, nationality, birthday and all that other crap- I'll sort it out for you, on me."

"Really? Bobby you don't have to-"

"Hey, hey- anything for Toby Campbell's kid."

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

John entered 221B to find Mycroft seated across Sherlock. Both brothers sat in absolute silence- neither talking, (nor shouting), but they were both staring at each other, not moving a muscle.

Now John Watson had witnessed and heard enough from the two brothers, but this- this was very new.

Needless to say, it irked him.

As quietly as he could, John set down the groceries and tried to slink away, unnoticed.

"We heard you come in, John. We aren't deaf. Why don't you take a seat?" Mycroft said suddenly, breaking the silence and startling John. Groaning inwardly, the blonde reluctantly perched himself on the sofa.

"So, erm, is there a reason why you are both death-glaring each other?" he asked gingerly "Okay, how long has this been going on?" he added when he received no response "I may as well just leave because this is very time-consuming and frankly, weird." He said again after another bout of silence.

"Sherlock here thinks I've been hiding keeping secrets from him."

John looked to Sherlock, eyes worried.

"Sherlock this isn't about-"

"It is." Mycroft answered cooly, for his brother. Sherlock who hadn't moved or said a word since John walked into the flat merely raised his chin and carried on staring his brother down.

"Sherlock-"

"If you don't tell me now, Mycroft, I will find it myself, and if what I learn isn't- so help me Mycroft, I'll-"

"Save the threats for someone else, dear brother." Mycroft answered standing up "I am telling you for the last time, that I have no secrets abut Molly Hooper and our relationship never saw past my interest in her since she was someone in you inner circle."

The tall man in grey grabbed his umbrealla before stalking out the room.

John stared at Sherlock. The malice his best friend spoke with was surprising. Molly's death was certainly a tragedy- the poor girl was ever so sweet and kind, but why would Sherlock _care_ so much?

"Sherlock, I see that you don't want Molly's death to be as…mundane as it is, but you need to accept that it is. I don't think there could be any conspiracy behind her, I mean Sherlock, she was literally- she couldn't've harmed a fly if she tried."

The glare Sherlock threw at him almost made John choke. He tried to hide what almost came out of his mouth. _Nobody_: it was true though- outside Sherlock and the working relationship she had with Stanford, John, Lestrade and the rest of the NSY, Molly didn't have much of a life. No family, a handful of friends…that was it.

"She-" Sherlock's gaze dropped "She is the reason I didn't die the day I jumped."

Once again, John was taken aback by the emotion in the detective's eyes and words. It took a few moments for his words to sink in.

"She…helped you." Sherlock nodded wordlessly.

"I obviously know there was nothing I could've done to save her that night as I had no way of knowing, but I want to do her justice by putting the _correct_ killer behind bars."

"The murderer already has life, Sherlock."

"Exactly- maximum security. He was no madman or psychopathic serial killer- why would he need the utmost protection?" Sherlock was suddenly wild-eyed "This was his first kill. Other than that it was break ins and small ATM robberies- why maximum security? He isn't the killer, John."

The brunette stood and, in a flash, was by the door, Belstaff already on and scarf almost completely knotted.

"Where are you-"

"Out." He answered curtly "Hurry up, let's go."

John held Sherlock back by the elbow and turned him around.

"I have no idea what you are doing, but I don't want you to get-"

"Hurt? Please, John- I can handle myself."

"I was going to say 'carried away'."

Sherlock paused and looked down to gaze properly at John.

"If you were in Molly's position, I would do the exact same thing; and if it was me that was in hers I have no doubt that both of you would do your best to do the same."

When Sherlock pulled away and stalked out the door, John stood frozen a while longer.

He never knew him and Molly were so…close- so close that Sherlock would go same lengths for her as he would do for John. This new piece of knowledge didn't exactly irk him…but made him uncomfortable somehow.

Pushing his negative thoughts away, John sighed and grabbed his coat before jogging of after his best friend.

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

Molly sat herself in front of the mirror, glaring at her reflection.

"Can't I be Emily Campbell, Age 31, 157 centimetres, Brown eyes, _Red_ hair?" she groaned.  
"Way to recognisable, then, darling." Ellen reasoned. Molly caught her gaze in the mirror and sighed.

"Fuck this. Let's get this over with then." She muttered.

"That's my girl."

"You won't look too bad- in fact, I'm pretty sure you'll look sexy as hell all brunette." Molly rolled her eyes at the blonde.

"Thanks for the support, Jo."

"Hey, I'm being serious here- hundred percent. She said, pushing herself of the counter and moving to stand next to her mother.

The three women worked, rubbing Vaseline all over Molly's scalp. Molly tried to memorise her current, natural, features: pale, dark eyes, small lips and auburn reddish straight hair that she always loved.

"I'm gonna miss being a redhead."

"You cold always dye it back." Ellen said.

"Besides- this dye is demi-permanent. It'll wash of in around 30 washes."

After splitting her hair into quadrants, the cold chemicals were slathered onto every strand and follicle on Molly's scalp. Once Ellen was satisfied that her entire head was covered, she set the timer.

"Twenty minutes, darlin'- no less, no longer." She warned before stepping out of the room.

"So how was life across the pond?"

"Fun, sometimes. Normal, mostly."

"I here you breaked from the life."

"I did, actually."

"And?"

"Absolutely boring. I always figured that I wouldn't miss the life. I dabbled ,obviously, but I never really got pulled back into it. Now-" she sighed "I just can't get enough." Jo laughed.

"Well it is the life- and you were a pretty damn good hunter."

"Were?"

"Sweetheart- you took a five year break. You're bound to be rusty."

"Wanna take a bet on that?" Jo smirked.

"You're on, sister."

The door opened, welcoming the Winchesters.

"Look at that hair- damn." The older hunter smirked. He yelped in pain when Molly flung a hairbrush at him, hitting him on the shoulder.

"Does your boo boo hurt?" Molly asked in a fake baby voice. Sam grinned; Jo laughed.

"What's so damn funny, Jo?"

"Nothing," she wheezed "It's just- damn, your accent- it's so damn _British_."

Sam and Dean burst into laughter along with Jo, leaving Molly to scowl on her chair. Soon, though, she was joining in as well.

"Why are you two dumbasses in here anyway?" she asked later.

"We just wanted to see what a disaster your hair'll be. We want front row tickets." Sam smirked.

Molly peeled of her boot and flung it at his head.

"Ow!" the tall man yelled, rubbing his head.

"Women." Dean muttered with an eye roll "Okay, okay sorry- just a joke." He added, noticing the glares Jo and Molly gave him.

Moments later, the timer went off.

"Time for the rinse!" Jo called excitedly, yanking Molly of her chair and to the sink.

Molly could see the chemicals washing of her hair and grimaced as the dark locks came into view. Before she could do anything, she was pulled back up and Jo was rubbing her head furiously with a towel.  
"Wait, no peeking!" she yelled as she wrapped Molly up into a turban.

Once the reached the two men, Jo pulled away the towel, letting the hair fall around her shoulders.

"Ta-Daa!" the sibling hunters' eyes widened in unison. Molly, instantly worried, turned around.

"Shit." She muttered looking at her reflection.

"Told you it'd look great."

"It looks okay, right?" she asked, whirling around. Dean mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

"Uh, um, uh _yeah_, yeah it looks-" he cut off

"It looks, um, it looks pretty good." Sam finished, blinking.

….

Sam and Dean got into the Impala. The sound of the engine revving filled the otherwise quiet atmosphere.

"Thank you so much again, Ellen." Molly said, hugging the woman.

"No problem- anything for you. It's so good that you're back home."

"Girl's night soon- I'll call you." Jo promised.

"Of course." Molly answered, turning to hug the tall blonde.

"Are you done with your lady stuff?" Dean called, hand pressed on the horn "We have a job to do."

"Shut up and be patient, Winchester." Molly called as she got herself seated onto her bike.

"Now with your new identity and all- well, once you get your photo done and sent to Bobby- what're we meant to call you?"

Molly yanked on her helmet, but flipped up the visor.

"Emily, Ems, Millie- whatever you want." She answered, "My preference is Molly, though."

….

"You're sure you're sticking with Emily _Campbell_?"

"Trust me, the obvious is the most discreet." Molly answered firmly.

"Well okay then, _Emily_."

"Thanks Bobby."

…

A few days later, Molly stood out in the scrap yard, pouring oil over her broken credit cards, I.D and passport. With a deep breath she struck a match. With another, she dropped it onto the pile of plastic.

She watched the flame in silence, only turning her head to look at Dean as he joined her.

"Second time I've seen you do this." Molly smiled.

"This time it's a lot more calm, isn't it?"

_The flames consumed her passport and I.D and the tears began flowing freely as Molly realised that she was no longer Amelia Campbell to anyone other than the hunters. She was no longer her mother's daughter._

_An arm wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her towards a warm chest. Molly cried into Dean's shirt, gripping the soft fabric._

"_I hate him." She choked out._

"_No you don't."_

"_I do- it's his fault mum's dead. It's his fault I have to do this. It's his fault I have to fucking leave _everything _behind."_

"_Yes, maybe it is- but he's your father. You don't hate him."_

"_Like you know."_

"_I do-" He said pulling her away and gripping her shoulders "-and this won't be the last time you see us. We're a plane ride away. Remember?"_

_He pulled her back to his side, and the stood next to each other for a while longer, watching the flames, and Molly's first identity die together._

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Molly blinked.

"What? Yeah- of course, why wouldn't I be?" Dean scrutinised her for a second.  
"Whatever you say."

As she she stood with Dean- his hands in his pockets, hers folded across her chest- her thought flew back to London.

She thought of hunting lesser creatures with Mary, arguing with Mycroft, laughing with Ross. She remembered her 'human' life as a pathologist- sweet old Stamford, kind Lestrade, John Watson…

Sherlock.

Shaking her head, she pushed that brilliant man to the suburbs of her mind. She caught Dean's look and rolled her eyes.

"Come on, then." She said walking forwards "I'm sure Sam's gotten whatever information we need on those killings."

She stepped onto the ashes of any proof that she was Molly Hooper and walked on without a glance back.

"I bet you it's a rogue demon." She called.

"My ass. It's a vampire."

"Fifty bucks it isn't."

"A hundred and throw in a pie."

"As long as it's apple, you're on."

**So a tiny little snip of Molly's past- i promise to reveal her hunting (and Sherlock) background soon, don't worry. Hope you liked this chapter and thank you to my reviewers from the last chapter you lot are amazing and make me want to keep writing.**

**Review? That text box looks so alone...**

**-Ash :)**


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